


Overture

by Ayes



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Crushes, F/M, On Set, Twilight References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: Kristen is lusting after Robert and he might know but he might not, they mostly just stare at each other. And Taylor is gay.





	Overture

On day thirty-seven of filming, Robert's knuckles brush against hers as he tunes his guitar, and Kristen stares over his shoulder at his lap. The crotch of wardrobe's thick Edward pants give next to nothing away, but she's mildly hopeful about a wrinkle on the inside of his thigh.  
  
This is what her life has become.  
  
Before, when she liked other boys, she knew that they would torment her and that one day they would become sweetened by sex and let her torment them until they broke up, and her heart ached. But Robert is sweet and never teases or flirts or pulls her hair and so she doesn't think he'll ever like her.  
  
Boys are sweet to their _sisters_.  
  
He's constantly distracting her, he plays the guitar and it's like being surrounded or wrapped in the best thoughts or the deepest feelings. He makes fucking beautiful, flowing tunes that go forever and rock him in his black tshirt with his shoulders hunched down. And she feels like she's high.  
  
So she tells herself, focus, Kristen. No wasted causes. And if Robert doesn't like her, Kristen's going to go with her ego, and secretly going to assume that he's gay.  
  
***  
She asks Taylor.  
  
Taylor laughs, his loud warm laugh, while loading up his plate at Craft Services. She watches him glob on the mac and cheese, the garlic bread, the way that he eats everything in sight and keeps it muscle. "Rob's not gay," he says, and Kristen picks at the veggie plate.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I know." Taylor flexes as he reaches for a plastic fork, and Kristen looks up to see a paparazzo a half mile to their left. They slowly, to avoid being rude, walk away. Taylor keeps his back to them. "And he doesn't have a girlfriend. If he wanted to hide his sexuality, which I don't think he would, he'd have a fake girlfriend."  
  
"Like Taylor Swift?" She smirks even though she told herself not to. "Right?"  
  
Taylor shrugs, flashes his perfect teeth, and is so ridiculously gay that she starts to giggle. "What can I say," he says, "I like her name."  
  
***  
So Rob is straight, and he just doesn't like her. That's kind of, if barely, acceptable. It sucks, but she can come back from it. Except that she can't seem to stop liking _him_ , and she's feeling kind of creepy the way she always listens to the stories he tells, how she's always tempted to describe his eyes to strangers.  
  
It does _seem_ like he likes her. At least a little. He isn't acting the same anyone does when they like someone, but she figures he's always been fucking weird.  
  
Was she making things up? She's dismissed moments between them that seemed all-important, moments of extended eye contact or an imagined connection.  
  
Wishful thinking, she tells herself.  
  
Do something about it, something whispers back.  
  
***  
Robert sits around as she Bedazzles her new bong, picks out the pink crystals to hand to her. He's quiet, which makes her nervous, but they're surrounded by sour diesel kush and sour patch kids, both regular and watermelon. He's playing bluegrass and Bob Dylan and punksped songs on his Pandora that make her head hurt in a good way. He's trying to convince her to get chili dogs and playing with the string of his brown hoodie. He's lived in two countries and he talks like people paint, for hours, in circles, and he makes her watch videos about space while he rolls blunts.  
  
She's so in love with him that she kind of can't stand it.  
  
"Stop making that face," he says, with Kristen hearing it like white noise and a migraine. Liking him so much stresses her out, being so near to him makes her nearly have a panic attack every time he looks at her a little too keenly. She makes her face even worse-looking and stares him down.  
  
"My mouth is sour."  
  
"Tell me about it." She glares at him and he stares right back. Something between them flickers like a light.  
  
He stares her down again, with those steady eyes the color of imaginary oceans and she feels the suppressed fear and hope like her country's first rockets are going up inside of her, she's as certain as crowds of witnesses that they are lurching toward something huge.  
  
***  
They are fighting for weeks, not really but shouting things about pregnancies and Kristen is always laying down and using all her brimming energy to be weak and desperate. Robert is anguished because Edward is anguished, and they are both of them exhausted. There's no time to think about what they are missing, in fact there is almost no time to remember if there is something to miss. Making a movie wasn't kind to either of their sleep schedules, but war is not kind.  
  
She has sweat-inducing nightmares of cars slamming down in the wasteland around her, and screaming horses running through flames. The dog monsters offer her things, clutched tight in their jaws so that the things are bending and they have those long black strips of skin or gum that dogs sometimes have, except their mouths are torn in shreds. There are houses of cards.  
  
She hasn't slept  in three days.  
  
Kristen leans against him while falling asleep on her feet on location in Italy, spilling as much of her hair as she can over his shoulder. She's exhausted but it's on purpose. In her half-asleep state, she can pretend to have confidence.  
  
He doesn't sputter and fall to her knees like he did when she imagined it, but he smiles in a gratified sort of way and pulls her closer.  
  
It's romantic, in a way, but it lasts for a little too long and she wonders what she smells like to him and she stares down at his crotch with her forehead tilted into his neck.  
  
Later on she sleeps okay.  
  
***  
One day she stumbles into him and he pulls her closer out of what she can tell is just reflex impulse instinct. His arms around her with no thought, his arms around her warm. She does the first thing that she thinks of to do, and pulls away.  
  
They do rigging work later, bouncing up and down tied to different trees and acting like it was an all day flight instead of several different takes that made her feel sort of queasy.  
  
Kristen loops her arms around his neck, smells the aftershave and weed smell in his sideburns. She bites his ear and pretends to stick her tongue in it, feeling bold when everybody is watching and can laugh it off.  
  
So it's unexpected when she's the last one unharnessed and he walks up to her and grabs the strap that she was undoing. She doesn't even know what to say when he takes her thigh in his hand like she's a doll and pushes her firmly, digging in his fingers evenly, against a tree. It makes her back itch through her Bella sweater but she stares up at him and waits.  
  
He doesn't kiss her and she gets the feeling that it's not because someone could see. His face is pink from removing makeup and he's staring at her like he's waiting for her to recognize him. His eyelashes are so long that when he blinks they reach past the bruises under his eyes.  
  
"Rob," she tries, reaching down to cover his hand with hers. He pulls his away, and the harness drops down between her legs, landing on the ground.  
  
He clears his throat and walks away, almost tripping over the grip in his haste to get clear of her. He's not acting like the himself she knows so who the fuck is she.  
  
Later on and to herself, she'll blame the circle of faint bruises around her thigh on the harness. No one else sees.  
  
***  
They're hanging out in a high school they're shooting a hallway scene at, and she doesn't know the name of the town or the chronology of the scene, she just knows it's her and Rob in some itchy dead grass in the middle of the track field with the sky powder blue. Their knees are bent toward each other, their hands are buried in the patches of yellow weeds. He dumps a torn handful onto her chest and she just stares at him, leaving them where they are.  
  
"Did you want me to knock those back off?" he asks her in the jokingest of ways. She arches her eyebrows though, and he blinks.  
  
"Try it," she challenges, and he stares at her. She stares back, but gets nervous and turns it into a glare, and he laughs it off with an ease that astounds her.  
  
It's weird how she can sit so close to him and still be straining to understand. It's weirder how she never knows what she's going to end up doing when he's this close.  
  
***  
Kristen wonders sometimes if everybody is as ruled by emotion as she is. She doesn't remember when she started caring so deeply about things, or maybe it's only Robert.  
  
Her bed in the morning feels like the only place in the world to be, especially after the long nights that plague her, and she curls up in the nests she makes of the blankets, half asleep and content until too many thoughts of him, and a noise from the living room, force her up.  
  
Taylor is on her couch, which should probably surprise her more, but the real surprise is how he found a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy marathon in 2010.  
  
"Good morning," he says, turning toward her and beaming. She waves and goes to make them poptarts.  
  
"You're too tan," she says, shoving them into the toaster and setting it to the blackest setting. "Did you know you have a huge fanbase in Mexico?"  
  
"Si," he says, and there are the fucking shiny teeth again. "I just came over because we need to run lines."  
  
"Okay." Kristen took the poptarts out of the toaster and stuck both of them into her mouth to carry them, nearly burning her tongue off in the process. "'Lemme shower."  
  
They run lines and it smells like Robert where he spent nine hours on the couch watching Lord of the Rings and every version of Hamlet and spilling the water out of her bong. Taylor is too professional to wrinkle his nose, but she can tell he wants to.  
  
***  
When her life is too busy, Kristen feels like her personality is lost and her time is streaming past her too quickly to catch, her life is rushing away in reverse as every day becomes work and study and places to be, and every day is mornings, stress, and nightmares. Rob break up the differences. She remembers the tinges that are Saturdays, Mondays, if she strains to remember what they laughed at, the things he told her, or maybe exactly how long she got away with staring.  
  
She feels a vague and unsettling sense of panic when it comes to Robert now, like she needs to hold on to him before all the snow caps and tigers and bees have disappeared and it's too late to be happy, but that's much easier obsessed over than done.  
  
She's also horny, and wants him, and thinks about his lips which she's pretty sure you aren't supposed to do with boys, and his nipples which is just weird.  
  
***  
"I can't figure you out," Kristen admits, when they are alone and hotboxing Bella's truck.  
  
Robert blinks at her, his eyes red and watering. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
Outside the mountains look like they're reaching and fading upward, spiraling higher than each previous range, the fringe on top are trees indistinguishable from the mountains through the clouds.  
  
***  
She does what she did in high school and tries driving around, smoking cigarettes and listening to every clichéd song she can, and a shitload of dubstep.  
  
She's not going anywhere in particular. The car is cold because Washington is always fifteen degrees cooler than LA, and it's March now, cool in mornings and cool in the evenings too.  
  
When she's stopped at a traffic light a guy in the next car, something flashy, winks and revs his engine, trying to race. She laughs; she's in a forest-green rented Accord, he can't really think she'd be a challenge. Being flirted with makes her feel much lighter and for some reason, vaguely guilty at the same time.  
  
When the light turns green the guy speeds forward and she turns right toward Rob's house.  
  
***  
It's out of character for her to show up somewhere without calling, she's not Taylor, but she tells herself, take a chance once in a while.  
  
He answers the door with his navy blue cotton boxers riding a quarter inch above his pants, which she notices before she can see that he is looking at her. Expectant. And sexy. He shows her to the couch, and they lock eyes like they always do.  
  
"I'm kinda messed up," Kristen says.  
  
"I know," he says back, and she's too nervous to even roll her eyes.  
  
"I mean, about you." She kind of scowls at him, and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and the scowl becomes kind of a hopeful peering up that she's sure she'd hate to see on herself if she could see it.  
  
He kisses her open mouth and it catches her off guard, her lower teeth and tongue suddenly tasting like metal and her lower lip wet for some reason like maybe he missed. He tries again, dipping in close. She can smell his breath but she still feels like she's won something. He likes her. Rob's mouth closes over hers, and Kristen sticks her tongue into it.  
  
***  
She sits on him and when he puts his hands on her shoulders to push her away, she captures them and brings them to her knees. He pulls his hands away, slightly, but she flattens hers on his and presses his palms down against her. His palms hold searing heat and she can feel the exact moment that he begins to sweat.  
  
Kristen leans forward, deliberately, her eyes on some point of the wall over Rob's shoulder. His hair tickles her ear and she speaks to some point behind his. "Look where I've got you."  
  
"Hmm?" It's a stalling technique but she knows he's listening.  
  
She lets go of his hands and they stay on her. She runs her fingers through her hair and breathes out low and hard forgetting to sound sexy, right into his ear.  
  
He stops breathing from his mouth and begins taking jagged, asthmatic-sounding breaths from his nose. Too many blunts, too much Forks.  
  
Robert rolls them, pushes her gently down until her hair is everywhere and she's lying roughly underneath him. She reaches up and down to get at his buttons, _finally_ , when he kisses her again, their breathing erratic and tongues meeting, teeth glancing off of lips and too much saliva in her mouth for some reason. He lets her pull his pants half-down his ass and then tugs her leggings down without looking. She's wearing underwear but she pulls him down flush against her anyway, caught up in kissing and touching and the confusion of whether her eyes should be open or shut when she wants to feel everything, but also witness it.  
  
He rubs his cock against her hip and she can feel the obscene hotness and dampness and the restraint humming against his throat when he bites at her mouth again.  
  
"Vampire," she says, pushing him off slightly, and he doesn't even laugh, just stares at her again, like always, and for once it makes her bolder. "Please," she adds, or maybe it's another sentence or part of something that she doesn't get a chance to say. She says "please" again, and still doesn't know what she's asking for.  
  
He moves her panties and shifts their balance and his weight and her hair off of her face. He begins to consume her, engulf her in something big and possible and blinding, and she refuses to close her eyes.


End file.
